


loooove bites!

by MonsterParade



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Biting, Breeding Kink, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, a perfectly good set of sheets is destroyed and no one minds, cyclonus is a sap and waxes poetic about love when he nuts, you guys are married and very in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-12 02:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17458910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonsterParade/pseuds/MonsterParade
Summary: Cyclonus wants to mix things up in the bedroom. You're /more/ than happy to indulge him.





	loooove bites!

**Author's Note:**

> Only I proofread this and it hasn't been beta'd at all, I hope it still suffices! Cheers!

Cyclonus is intense on a normal day; all brooding silence and looming, his red optics bleeding the only color onto a face 'like a funeral' (as Whirl had once described). He's foreboding enough that mechs tend to scatter when he approaches, particularly those who don't know him well enough-- and that intensity only doubles when you get him like this. The first time this had happened you'd almost gotten scared, before you'd remembered exactly _who_ you were with, and his marked penchant for staring.  
  
He's not good with _words_ \- so this is just how he says he loves you.  
  
All the lights in the berthroom are off, leaving the two of you in near-total darkness, and the only illumination available to see by is the burning-coal shine of Cyclonus' optics from where his helm is resting between your thighs. He peers up at you over the curve of your stomach, still so big compared to you that his claws, however gentle they might be, can curl entirely around your legs, and his eyes stay locked on yours with a feverish intensity as he uses that advantage to pull you close and bury his glossa in your sex.  
  
All the eye-contact is _relentless_ , and somehow that still manages to make you feel so _bashful_ that you can only look down at him through your lashes.  
  
"Fuck! Cyc," you hiss, never quite able to become accustomed to the first wet slide of him. His is not a human tongue- soft though it is, it's made of metal, like the rest of him- and there are tiny ridges on it, tiny breaks in the metal where it curves that allow it to move. It's also so large in proportion to you that he can cover your entire pubic mound in one sweep if he so pleases, which he does, the fang-like plating at the edges of his lips pressing carefully flat to the join of your hips and thighs. " _Fffuck_."  
  
He makes a rumbling sound at you in reply.  
  
He's not a _chatty_ berth partner either; you're usually lucky to get more than a few heavy sighs out of him, unless he's really in a mood. You feel like that probably has something to do with the staring, like he's trying to communicate his feelings to you through his optics alone, but you've never actually managed the _brainpower_ to ask him about it during these encounters because he makes up for that aforementioned silence by eating you out like a mech starving.  
  
He slides the tip of his glossa into you and curls it, in the way he knows you like, and you grab at his horns and moan and pull on him in the way you know _he_ likes. There's no way you could ever really move him if he didn't _want_ to be moved, but he still seems to appreciate the effort.  
  
"What- what's gotten into you?" you ask shakily, your legs kicking out involuntarily as he nudges the ridge of his nose against your clit. He just takes another long, maddening drag of his tongue over your pussy, and then another, before he can even be assed to pull away. The glow from his eyes makes it almost look like he's blushing, a look you appreciate.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Oh, that is _bull_ shit. You're usually the one who ends up initiating this kind of intimacy with him, on account of him being _fucking ancient_ and very, very hard to get going compared to your youthful human libido-- but this evening he'd been the one to drag _you_ away to your shared habsuite, a particular urgency to his movements that you'd recognized well. _Something's_ got him running hot...you're just not sure what it is yet.  
  
"Cyclonus," you prompt him again, holding onto his horns like handlebars just for something to do with your hands. "Come on, baby, it's nothing to be embarrassed about. If you tell me, maybe I can do something about it!"  
  
You're already watching for the way his optics flicker when it happens; his ventilation hitches for just a second, and he presses closer to you again to swipe his tongue through the lips of your sex, aiming for the familiar figure-eight pattern that always makes you lose your train of thought. He pretends to be distasteful about it, but he _loves_ when you call him pet names...as long as it's in private. He's just trying to avoid the subject.  
  
And admittedly, it _does_ work. He rolls his tongue against you just above the hood of your clit, pulls back to suck carefully on your labia, and you pretty much forget anything that isn't claws and teeth and tender and _Cyclonus_. You let your head thump back onto your pillow with a strangled sound, your back in a small arch so you can keep your hold on him.  
  
"...Am I not allowed to simply take the time to pleasure my conjunx?" he asks stiffly against your thigh.  
  
"You-- _ooh, ooooh fuck_ \- of course you are, but we both know that's not all that's ha- _aaappening_ will you just _stop_ that?"  
  
_That_ happens to be him licking up into you with a very intentional hum in his vocalizer, well-aware of the effect the vibrations have on you and apparently intent upon being as stubborn with you tonight as he can possibly manage to be.  
  
"Do you actually want me to stop?"  
  
"... ...No."  
  
The bastard. He's had unbelievable amounts of time over the course of his life to practice eating pussy (robotic or otherwise), and he uses it all on you with as much finesse as any other weapon he tries. You clang him on the side of the helm with the heel of your foot in meager retaliation.  
  
Sensing that you're not going to be able to hold a conversation with him until he's wrung at _least_ a couple orgasms out of you, you give up, settle in for the long ride, and finally let yourself go lax against the bed, releasing his horns so you can clutch the covers instead. He replies by burying his glossa as deep into you as it can go, stretching you abruptly open on hot wet metal that rolls inside you like a wave.  
  
You cum _long_ and hard from that one.  
  
_______________  
  
"I hate you. I hate you, I hate you so much," you breathe sometime later, finally exhausted from a couple consecutive rounds of Cyclonus' tender attentions. He just licks your arousal off his lips and looks blearily up at you from the crux of your thighs, like _he's_ the one who's just been absolutely ravished. "How do you even _do_ that? _God_ , Cyc! God."  
  
Your whole body is over-hot and tingly from the treatment, all but melted into the blankets as the last shivers of your latest orgasm wear off. If you could muster the energy to raise your head, you might look down and check to make sure he's not getting any ideas in his head about a round four in that vein. As it is, you only manage to pat the bed beside you in a wordless request that he join you.  
  
"I love you," you tell him, when he finally climbs up onto the berth with you and pulls you to his side. You're drowsy and he's warm and you're _thoroughly_ sated, but even while you roll over and nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and chin you can tell that he hasn't finished, hasn't taken himself in hand the way he sometimes does when all he wants is to eat you out. You have no doubts that he'll just let you drift off to sleep if that's what you want, but there is _no_ goddamn way you're going to bed without getting to the bottom of this and repaying him a little for his attention.  
  
You pull your head back and tilt your face up to look him in the optics.  
  
"That was _amazing_ , baby- now what's the occasion?"  
  
This time, he avoids your eyes.  
  
"Cyc-Cyc. Cyclonus. I'm not going to sleep until you tell me what all the fuss was about! Now come on, I won't make fun of you, I promise. Will you _please_ tell me?"  
  
Cyclonus is a powerful mech, but even he is only so strong in the full force of your practiced puppy-dog eyes. You can see him wavering as you bat your lashes, so you reach up to cup his chin in your tiny hands and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, plush and sweet, and that's when he caves.  
  
"--I want to-- overload inside of you."  
  
You blink.  
  
That's...not an odd request. He's done that before, actually, on a pretty regular basis, so you tilt your head and give him a Look until he coughs up the rest of the details, petting lovingly along the line of his jaw to show your support.  
  
"And?"  
  
Cyclonus makes a low-pitched, chest-deep grating sound, clamping his jaw shut tight as he struggles with his words. You just continue to pet and give him a minute, knowing that pushing him any more will make him clam up even further and then you'll _never_ know what he's on about.  
  
"I- want-" Here he pauses, seeming to work the words in his mouth, "To _breed_ you. I want to fill you. Until-- my transfluid is spilling down your thighs. I would like to hold you down and see you _round_ with it-" His teeth click sharply as he forces himself to stop talking, his eyes widening just a fraction in mortification, and he certainly doesn't miss the look on your face as you try to process what he's just said. "--There. I've said it. Now go to sleep."  
  
You start and stop your sentence twice before you can manage to actually get the words out.  
  
"...Holy fuck that's hot. Oh my god that's _so_ hot. Why didn't you just _say_ so?"  
  
Evidently, this is not the reaction he was expecting, because Cyclonus jerks his head down to look at you with a speed that makes his neck click. You worry your lower lip between your teeth and fumble for his hand to hold it.  
  
"Babe, of _course_ you can. That's what this was all about? Honey, you can pin me down and fuck me 'till I _cry_ if that's what makes you happy!" you exclaim. "It'd make _me_ happy." This is, without a doubt, the most forthcoming Cyclonus has ever been about a sexual desire in the entirety of your relationship, with the exception of your first time, during which he'd informed you gravely that you turned him on so much that it was genuinely a distraction (that had been the first time he ate you out, too, and you _had_ cried that time).  
  
Cyclonus' vents fan wide and whir almost violently, the only outward expression of his ramping charge other than a determined set to his brow. He rubs his thumb over your fingers and nods.  
  
"I...thank you."  
  
_______________  
  
And that's how you find yourself on your chest and knees in the berth, pinned under Cyclonus' remarkable heft with a care that keeps you firmly but painlessly held in place. You arms are folded in front of you, allowing you to bury your face in crook of your elbow, and you breathe heavily and wiggle and try not to twitch as the weeping tip of Cyclonus' spike nudges between your legs. He uses one hand to guide himself, and keeps the other firmly on your hip.  
  
"I will not hurt you," he promises, his voice a rumble against your back. "Tell me to stop and I will do so. Are you ready?"  
  
"C-Cyclonus, I came three times already. Come on." In response to this you get only silence, and you can just _see_ the look on his face while he waits for a straight answer, that single-brow quirk that so often drives you bonkers, so you add, "Yes! I'm ready! _Please_ do it," and you feel him ease slightly in relief. His clawed fingers reach around to tease your clit.  
  
"...As you wish."  
  
He presses in.  
  
Like always, he's slow, _painstakingly_ slow at first, even with you already loose and hot and soaking wet from your previous orgasms. You bite your lip and stay quiet through the pressure for a moment, and then the head of his spike pops past that first ring of muscle and you can't hold back your gasp, your hips twitching fitfully as you try to rock back on him and force him in deeper. You can feel him tense when you do, his hand jittering where he's touching you-- you don't know exactly how long he's been burning up about this, but his spike is absolutely _drooling_ lubricant, adding to the slick already inside of you and helping him to press forward without resistance. His ex-vents are hot and heavy on the back of your neck.  
  
"Cyc-- Cyc, come on, you won't hurt me, just _fuck_ me-" you whine at him, wiggling your ass in a way that you hope will entice. It makes his spike shift inside you, and the choked-off sound he makes is almost enough to make his hesitation worth it, the soft wires between flexible plating pulsing as you squeeze around him. The hand he'd been using to guide himself finds its way back to your hip, and holds you tight, claws so careful and _just_ shy of pricking the flesh.  
  
"Be patient," he grits out, and continues to ease himself forward despite your keening. The solid slide is slow, inexorable, and absolutely maddening, and he only stops once he bottoms out, giving you a minute to adjust to the full of him.  
  
You moan into your arms where they pillow your head and savor the familiar sensation of being stuffed.  
  
Cyclonus isn't a _small_ mech by _any_ sense of the word, and all parts of him reflect that regardless of his learning how to use mass-displacement-- he always leaves you feeling blissfully stretched, with a delicious dull ache that will last well past the next morning. You honestly think he could probably shrink himself smaller, but refrains from doing so because he likes the way it makes you cry for him. _You_ certainly like the way it makes you cry for him.  
  
" _God_ \- you've got a cock like a goddamn _tree trunk_ ," you mutter into your arms, bucking back against him again and trying to force him to move. You're actually close to overstimulated already from his three rounds' worth of foreplay, your body fever-hot, and the feeling of finally having something solid to fuck yourself on is incredibly difficult to resist, or it _would_ be if he wasn't holding you steady by the curve of your ass.  
  
"Must you?" he asks dryly in reply.  
  
"I must. It's true and I'm gonna say it."  
  
Cyclonus shifts above you, with a long-suffering sigh, and opts to let it go. He seems extremely distracted with keeping himself under control right now, anyway- you can feel the tiniest shivers pinging along the plating on his chest as he holds you to him, and he shifts again, bracing his knees further apart, kneading your soft flesh under his thumbs while his spike twitches inside of you.  
  
He doesn't tell you when he's going to move; he simply waits for you to stop wriggling and finally go limp, and only when you do does he treat you to the first, careful roll of his hips.  
  
It's nice. It feels good, but it's not what you _really_ want this time-- and it's not what _he_ really wants this time, either. He's so tense above you with his gentle movements that he feels like a rubber band about to snap.  
  
"Come on, big guy," you encourage him. "I thought you wanted to fuck me. You're never gonna knock me up at this rate!"  
  
That comment is a little bit of a gamble; you don't know if what he wants is really just to hold you down and go to town, or if he was being _completely_ literal about the 'breeding' thing-- but it pays off exponentially almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, as Cyclonus makes a horrible strangled sound low in his throat and drops his helm to brush the back of your neck.  
  
"I have your permission?"  
  
"Of course you do. I thought we already established that?"  
  
You can feel the hot air puffing out of the holes in his cheeks when he replies.  
  
"You will stop me if you need to?"  
  
Cyclonus is careful, always careful- you've never needed to stop him. The hard part is getting him to really _move_.  
  
"Yes, Cyc, I _promise_. Don't worry, okay?" you assure him, turning your head as much as you can so you can glance at him out of the corner of your eye. All you can see is his optic, fever-bright like it's going to burn out of his head. "I trust you, one-hundred percent. Come on, sweetheart! _Breed_ me!"  
  
Well, that seems to do it. You might been on the verge of feeling a little silly, phrasing it that way (his words, though, not yours), but thankfully you're both distracted from any embarrassment by the shock of pleasure that moves through you as Cyclonus pulls his hips back and slams back into you without any warning, one clawed servo bracing against the berth to hold his weight. You yelp in surprise and scrabble to hold that hand.  
  
_Finally!_ If you'd known this was all it took to get Cyclonus to use all that strength and properly raw you, you would have brought this sort of thing up _ages_ ago! As it is, you're reduced to clutching onto his wrist and pressing your face down into the sheets as he finds a fast, thumping rhythm, snapping into you with hard little thrusts right from the get-go. You try not to moan and hang on for the ride.  
  
"Come on come on c'mon, baby, you must be so pent-up," you mutter, your voice bouncing a little. It's already kind of hard to think, with so much heavy metal pressing down on you and into you and your pussy already stretched tight around him. Cyclonus responds wordlessly to your encouragement by huffing against your back and moving his free hand around from your waist to brace under your belly, holding your hips up to him.  
  
You can feel his spike drag firmly against your inner walls, the gentle ribbing that covers the length of it catching and pulling as he moves-- and it makes you whimper, makes you roll your hips back into him while he pulses inside of you.  
  
"I love you," he chokes out quietly, so quietly that you can barely hear it over the sound of his vents. You only have a few moments to be surprised- Cyclonus only ever starts muttering sweet nothings when he gets _close_ \- and then you realize why he's twitching so much, why his pace is so erratic, as he presses flush to you and overloads without a sound, static electricity tingling over your skin as his transfluid spurts into you, thick and hot.  
  
_Hoh-lee shit_.  
  
"Oh my _god_ ," you say through a mouthful of blanket. Cyclonus usually has the stamina to match that glacial pace of his, and half the time you're already insensate against the covers by the time he finishes, but here he is popping off like a faulty blaster almost as soon as he's started in on you. You can feel him ram-rod stiff above you, riding out his orgasm soundlessly while his transfluid starts to leak out around his spike. You also feel a strange rumbling sound kick up in his chest where he's pressed it to your back. "Babe, you good-? You-?"  
  
_You just nutted like a teenager getting his first handy_ , you want to say, but you don't get the _chance_ because Cyclonus nuzzles his nose into the dip of your shoulder, kisses his way over to your spine, and starts rutting again. Just like that. His transfluid drips out and spatters the bedsheets as he rolls into you.  
  
"Cyclonus!" you moan, shocked. This is...new! Good new! You've never managed to get more than one overload out of him before! This spells a very positive change for your sex life, you think, now that you know what kind of thing gets him going.  
  
Cyclonus presses a tender kiss to the base of your neck, and then closes his jaws around you. Gently. So, so gently.  
  
He's--  
  
"--Are you _biting_ me? Are you _scruffing_ me? A-are you- _oh_ , oh _shit, fuck, Cyc!_ "  
  
Yeah, he's biting you, carefully enough that he doesn't even scrape your skin, although you can _feel_ the power in those jaws as his fang-like lip plates press in on the nape of your neck and urge your head down nearly flat to the bed. He's bitten you before, little nips and nicks at your request, but never like _this_. If you weren't already on your belly, the wave of arousal this causes would have nearly knocked you over.  
  
"Would you like me to stop?" he asks. His voice is scratchy and halting from where it comes in his throat, his voxcoder working to enable him to talk without moving his mouth-- and you can't shake your head because he's holding you down, so you shift your hips and fuck yourself back on him with a sudden desperation, his claws digging into you as he tries to hold you firm.  
  
"No! No, don't you dare stop," you grit out. You never would have imagined that you'd be so into being _scruffed_ , like an animal in heat, but...with the way your pussy in clenching down on him as he grinds himself into your wet heat, it seems like you're _both_ learning things about yourselves tonight. Cyclonus strokes apologetically over where he's pricked you with his claws and hums against your neck.  
  
______________________  
  
This time around, Cyclonus lasts a lot longer. Apparently that _early_ overload of his had taken the edge off pretty well, because this time Cyclonus turns his attention to you once more, and with whatever fog was in his processor cleared he returns to his usual habit of picking you apart in the most loving way, petting over your stomach and kneading your chest and shifting the angle of his spike inside of you to find the ones that will make you writhe when he hits them.  
  
Still such a considerate lover, even while he's holding you in a gentle but iron grip that keeps you all but immobile.  
  
You're not sure how long he's been fucking you-- long enough, this time, that your own orgasm is building up coiled tight in your belly, so gradually that you're almost nervous to see how good it's going to feel when you _do_ manage to cum-- but at some point he's started clicking again, something that he does when he's long gone and he thinks you're too out of it to listen. It's Cybertronian, short, staccato bursts of it, humming from his chest in sounds you can't hope to replicate while his fingers brush your clit. You don't speak it, but you know the emotions behind the words. He's rambling lovesick to you again.  
  
This is normally the point you'd kiss him, but this time you can't reach.  
  
"Oh god, oh, god, Cyc," you whine, your hips twitching as you try to convince him to put proper pressure on your clitoris. He's just skirting around it, feather-light touches while he growls against your neck and groans sweet nothings to you, and you're _so close_ but he's keeping you right at that ledge to tease you, because he knows you love it and you hate it more than anything. "Fuck me already! _Fuck_!"  
  
"Hush," he soothes you, and finally releases his iron-clad grip on your neck to kiss you, gentle and sweet where the consistent pressure has probably left bruises. For some reason, that makes you shudder harder than anything. "I am going to overload with you."  
  
" _Please!_ "  
  
Absolute horn-headed _bastard_ and his stubborn hands petting your skin and his dripping, throbbing spike stretching you open so wide that you think you're going to cry if you don't get to cum soon. Your skin is damp with sweat by now and there's condensation beading on Cyclonus' plating, and between the two of you the temperature in the room is just this side of unbearable, your lips so bitten they're sore from where you've choked back your whining.  
  
You love him so much. You're about to lose your mind.  
  
"I love you, I love you," you repeat against the blankets, rolling your hips as much as he'll let you, and you try to focus on the twitching of his spike inside you and the slick slide of it, squeezing down on him in the hopes that you can coax him to cum. You'd beg for him to fill you, to breed you, but you can't find the words and so you just rock against him, your eyes closed tight and your poor pussy drooling.  
  
He lasts a couple more minutes before he has no choice but to take mercy on you.  
  
He says your name when he overloads- in a bassy rumble so heavily accented that it almost doesn't _sound_ like your name- and although his servos are shaking and his voice breaks off as his charge finally crests, he still manages to slide the pads of his fingers over your clit and rub you hard until you cum with him, yowling and twisting. Your hips have been tilted up this whole time, keeping most of his earlier release inside you through it, and so this time when he cums there's so much transfluid stuffed into your pussy that you can feel the hot pressure in your belly as you shudder your way through it, milking him for all he's worth while he clutches you tight against him.  
  
You slump into a pile of human jello on the bed once it ebbs and Cyclonus sags against you, seeming barely behind.  
  
You're going to be feeling that one tomorrow. There are going to be bruises on your neck, not that you mind. You can feel transfluid spilling out and oozing down your thighs as Cyclonus gingerly pulls himself out.  
  
"I love you," you slur, three-fourths of the way unconscious. Cyclonus lays down beside you and drags you to him to hold you close, lazily kissing your cheeks and nose and chin.  
  
"...I love you too."


End file.
